


Enough

by BewareTheIdes15



Series: Baby Boy Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Sibling Incest, Weechesters, Wincest - Freeform, impala!sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdes15/pseuds/BewareTheIdes15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's first school dance didn't go exactly as he'd hoped. Luckily, he's got Dean (plus a bottle of Jack) to make it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

"Sammy, what happened?"

"Just drive."

Obediently Dean started up the engine and pulled out of the high school parking lot into the night. Either he had forgotten the girl he'd had pressed up against the Impala when Sam trudged out of the gym, or else he didn't care much - hell, she'd probably think he was even sexier for just ditching her because stupid shit like that happened to Dean all the fucking time.

Tonight was verifiable proof of what Sam had suspected all along - God hated him. That was the only real explanation for the craptasticness of his entire existence. His mom was dead before he could even remember her, which had turned his dad into a psychotic monster killer and meant that he'd gotten the privilege of growing up in worn out motel rooms and crappy rentals and never stayed anywhere long enough to matter. Then God had taken his perfectly usable, normal sized body and given him this huge one that was all knees and elbows just to watch him trip around and knock shit over and never fit in anywhere ever again.

One time, Sam had seen this cat in a store Dad thought was haunted, and it had walked across this table-display of spindly wine glasses, walked all in between them without ever knocking one over. That was how his brother moved; all smooth and easy like the world would just move a little to the left if he asked it to, and it probably would. Dean never tripped over his own giant feet or had bruises all over from accidentally walking into stuff. Because God didn't hate Dean, just Sam, which was even more unfair.

Dean would never have walked out of his first - and from then on, ONLY - school dance with somebody else's blood running down his chin and the whole school staring at him like the freak he was. That was a special hell just for Sam. His skin felt about five sizes too small, like he was just going to bust apart at the seams from frustration any second.

"What happened, Sam?" Dean asked more seriously, probably worried about the bloodstain on Sam's face, so he tried to wipe it away on the back of his arm.

"Nothing," Sam shot back sullenly, as if that reply had ever once worked with his big brother. There was a wet heat building up in his chest to match to mugginess of the air and he wondered if Dean would kill him slow and painful or just do it quick if he puked in the car. He decided not to risk it and rolled down the window for some fresh air.

"Sam," and it was an almost perfect replica of the way Dad said it when he expected Sam to shape up and get with the program. Sam just sighed at the dark trees whipping by.

"I... I..."

"You?" He could fucking feel Dean's eyes on him.

"I was just, we were dancing and I was just leaning in to... you know. And then somebody pushed and..." Sam crashed his palms together in illustration because there were just no words whatsoever to describe slamming his face into Melissa Morris so hard it made her mouth bleed. The nurse had said she might need stitches - which Sam could have done because he'd gotten pretty good at giving stitches over the years, but it didn't look like Melissa wanted him very close to her mouth anymore. Then he'd just walked out. Everybody staring at him and his heart resting somewhere in his upper esophagus and now there they were, driving away because they were Winchester's and because God fucking hated Sam.

In fact the only decent thing God had ever done for Sam was to give him Dean, which made it a real shame that Sam was going to have to kill him now because the bastard was fucking snickering.

"It's not funny, Dean!"

Apparently pointing that fact out made it funnier. Dean was practically rolling with laughter, slowing down the car so they didn't crash and die - which right then wasn't sounding so bad to Sam - when he couldn't see the road through his tears of mirth.

"I'm sorry," Dean gasped, "I'm sorry, it's just. Man!"

His brother slowly looked back over at Sam, and maybe he was actually shaking with the rage and humiliation slamming his system, but whatever it was that Dean saw, it sobered him right up.

"Sammy-"

"It's SAM!" he yelled, half tempted to fling open the door of their slowing car and just jump out to avoid his stupid damn brother.

"Sam," Dean corrected, which was weird in itself since Dean almost never called Sam that when Sam wanted him to, "It's ok. It happens, everybody's gonna forget about it in a week anyway."

And no, nobody was going to forget about it in a week; he was always going to be 'that guy who tried to kiss Melissa and made her get stitches' but there was a reasonable chance that they'd be gone in a week anyway so there wasn't really any point in caring about what all of those jerks back at school thought. The logical part of his brain knew that, but the rest of him was screaming that it was already bad enough to be the spaz who only talked to his awesome older brother and now he'd gone and committed social suicide.

Sam was fairly certain he hadn't said any of that out loud, but Dean was pulling off of the road anyway, on to one of those trails that seemed to be a hallmark of stupid backwoods towns like that. They pulled off a little ways down into a clearing like a small field. People probably came here to make out - if they weren't socially-dead losers like Sam.

Dean stopped the car and cut the engine, then just got out and went around to the trunk. Sam was officially too overloaded to know or care what Dean was up to, so he just sat and waited while he brother came back around the car, toed off his boots and crawled up onto the hood to rest his back against the windshield. He was holding the bottle of Jack that they kept in the trunk as field anesthetic and - ok, they were in a field, and maybe Sam could use a little anesthetic.

Sam hoisted himself out of the Impala, for once managing not to bang his head, then pulled off his own sneakers and moved to lay next to his older brother. Dean opened the bottle and took a pull before passing it over. Sam wiped the rim with his palm - more for effect than because he really cared - before he forced himself to take a long drink of the burning liquid and tried not to cough up a lung.

It wasn't like this was something they did. Their dad might get half-way to hammered every night he wasn't hunting, but he would down right freak out if he knew that they - especially Sam - were drinking just for the feel of it. Dean, at 19, was allowed to have beer with dinner and Sam was sure that when he went to hustle pool at the bars he drank - Dean hadn't had any trouble getting into bars since he was 16; just another miracle of being fucking Dean. But Sam was still little Sammy and if Dad knew Dean was letting him do this, he'd probably skin them both alive.

Sam took another long draw as soon as the first stopped burning through his chest. The alcohol was starting to settle warm in his gut and he really hoped it would kick in soon.

Dean took the bottle back, taking another drink for himself, then just holding it. Sam could feel him watching out of the corner of his eye, but he refused to really look and see Dean giving him the 'poor Sammy' face. It was a shock when Dean's wet thumb started scrubbing at his chin, and it took him a second to realize what was happening - ok, maybe the alcohol was kicking in.

"Eww, dude!" he said, shoving his brother's hand away. That whole 'cleaning you with spit' thing had stopped being ok when he was 8. Not that that had ever stopped Dean.

Sam took the bottle and threw back another drink. It seemed to go down easier now, and his body was just beginning to feel all warm and loose. The sky was clear, the stars bright out this far from the little towns they always lived around.

"There'll be other girls," Dean promised easily, because for Dean there were always other girls. Hell, Melissa had completely forgotten Sam was there when Dean had stepped out of the car with him.

"Yeah."

They shared the warm silence for a while, bottle passing back and forth between them, slowly emptying.

"Hey Sammy," Dean asked quietly, hesitant in a way that his brother rarely was, "That wasn't the first... I mean, you've kissed girls before right?"

Sam didn't answer. It was just as good as saying 'yes', but he couldn't quite bring himself to. He could have lied, but Dean would know it - Sam had learned to lie to everybody from cops to teachers and even Dad sometimes but Dean always saw through him.

Sam knew he was a little behind on the whole kissing thing. Ok, more than a little. Fuck, he knew Dean was already having sex at Sam's age; knew it because he'd been on the other side of a paper thin wall or curled under the covers on the other side of the room most of those times - knew it because that was when he had started begging for it. But he wasn't like Dean with girls. He couldn't just walk up to one of them and smile and get her to go down on her knees and then forget her name.

"Boys?" Dean asked after another long minute of quiet.

"What!? No!" Sam nearly shrieked. Although that wasn't exactly the truth and they both knew it, but that was one of those Winchester things that just happened and never made it into words; like Dad's drinking or the way Mom died. They had kissed, plenty of times, spent whole nights doing it and a lot more under the sheets with Dad out on some hunt and maybe never coming back. But they didn't discuss it, and when they weren't doing it, it was just like it never happened at all.

"Nothing wrong with it, you know, if you have," Dean pushed, and there was something behind his whiskey-softened eyes that made Sam's chest clamp down too tight to breathe. He'd never really thought about any of those people Dean came home smelling like sometimes being guys, but all of a sudden it was impossible to think about anything else. Impossible not to feel his best jeans get too tight.

"I know," was the best Sam could come up with around the burning knot in his throat that the liquor did nothing to wash away.

Every nerve in his body was crackling with life, waiting on the edge of what might happen. For all the times they'd done it, every one of them was like this; like it was the first time, like it might never happen again.

The backs of Dean's fingers grazed up Sam's arm and he couldn't do anything but watch it.

"She seemed like a bitch anyway. You're too good for her, baby boy."

And there wasn't a single time that hearing Dean call him that hadn't made Sam hard as fucking steel since the very first time he realized that it only happened when there was going to be the Something. The kissingtouchingfuckingcomingwrongright Something. It went right to his head and hit him harder than alcohol ever could because Dean was a whole different kind of drug and they didn't have a word for that it.

Sam wasn't ever sure how they ended up like this; who kissed who first or touched who where, it was just hands and mouths and warm, wet perfect. Maybe he would never be able to kiss girls like Melissa or even kiss boys in any way that wasn't totally fucked up and maybe that was God's punishment for making out with his brother or maybe it was just the price he had to pay to be able to kiss anyone and have it feel as good as it always did with Dean. And if so then he could deal with that. School might be hell on Monday and every other day until Dad decided they were done there, but if it meant he could be like this, feel like this for just a few minutes, then Sam would pay it a thousand times.

Dean's tongue was still steeped in the sweet sting of whiskey and Sam was sucking it deep into his mouth like his life depended on the taste.

Their bodies were sliding on the slick hood of the car and some private part of Sam loved knowing that Dean would never have let anyone else but his little brother do something like this on his baby; loved it almost as much as the way Dean's hand found and twisted at the head of his cock through his jeans. Almost.

"Sammy," Dean whispered into his neck, plump lips mounding and sucking on whatever skin his mouth could reach, "baby boy, my beautiful baby boy."

It probably should have been weird that Dean went all chick-flicky when they did this - only and always when they did this - but it wasn't. Mostly it just made Sam want it more; filled him with this soft, kind of gooey feeling like his internal organs had turned into marshmallow fluff.

It couldn't be a fuck - even if maybe he kind of wanted it like that at the moment - they were too out in the open to risk it, and with both of them slipping around the paint job in their socks, there was no way to get the leverage anyway. If they stopped to move it would be over, because that was just how things went - thinking was the enemy. So instead of getting Dean inside him, he'd settle for getting him off.

Dean was nipping his way along Sam's pecs - and wasn't keeping it a secret how much he loved that they were just beginning to get defined - keeping up the chant of endearments as he tasted every inch of his brother, mapped it with his mouth for the thousandth time. With Dean's mouth still all over him, popping the buttons on his already bloodstained dress shirt, it took a little longer than he'd have liked to get them both free of their jeans. When he finally managed to line up their hard lengths, wrapping long fingers around them both, Dean stuttered to a halt, groaning into Sam's flesh.

The older Winchester's hips jerked in his brother's grip, instinctually bucking into the pleasure. Sam echoed the groan, moving his hand fast and rough over them both. Dean had given up on the kisses, dexterity shot to hell by the thrust of their hips, just breathing and licking into the crook of Sam's neck.

"So good, baby. So sweet. Love you, baby boy. My baby."

The drag of Dean's slick cockhead over his had them both shivering, the flick as the ridges caught leaving them gasping. He knew he was hot, burning up, but Sam felt half-frozen. His skin couldn't tell the difference in anything he was feeling; every brush of breath and flesh and fabric lighting him up, the twinges of pain when his zipper would slide over blood-heavy skin getting mixed up in the bliss tripping up his spine of tingling fingers.

"Yes, God don't stop, Sammy. Just like that. So good, baby boy."

Dean rucked Sam's shirt up under his arms, exposing his stomach for the hot spurt of come as the older man spasmed on top of him, slurring Sam's name on a moan. There was no way Sam could hold on after that, his head smacking into the windshield as he arched with the pulsing thrill. He heard himself gasping out Dean's name over and over as he emptied between them.

There was nothing but the sound of cicadas humming in the trees when he at last came down, Dean already piecing himself back together. Sam was used to the mingle of satisfaction and hunger and regret on Dean's face afterward, but it didn't make it sting any less. It was the moment he knew he was always going to be the screwed up kid; that no life he built out of lies would ever make him anything other than the guy who couldn't kiss Melissa Morris, but knew what every inch of his brother's dick felt like inside of him. It happened every time, and the worst part was the realization, every time, that he really didn't care as much as he should.

Dean slid off of the car and retrieved one of the spare shirts they kept stashed under the backseat for when theirs inevitably got torn or bloody - or covered in come. He flung it at Sam, taking one last pull from the bottle of Jack before taking it back to the trunk.

Sam tucked back in, throwing the ruined shirt to the ground and leaving it there like a grave marker for all the pretenses of normal in his life. He slid into the car next to his brother and leaned in to steal one last kiss against Dean's neck before it all disappeared for the next however-long.

Dean sighed and put his hand across the back of Sam's neck, looking sad for the half second before his usual grin turned back up and he ruffled Sam's hair. The engine roared to life again and they slowly pulled back onto the road and the life they pretended was enough.


End file.
